


A While

by Zwergenmaedchen



Category: British Actor RPF, Good Omens (TV) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Georgia Tennant (mentioned), Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, RPF, but she's not really relevant to this fic, idk i just don't feel like leaving Georgia out completely, mentions of Lego for a special friend of mine, people being disgustingly in love, very brief mentions of polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwergenmaedchen/pseuds/Zwergenmaedchen
Summary: 'Missed your beautiful beard,' David says, bringing one hand up, almost in slow motion, to caress Michael's cheek and stroke his beard. Michael settles into it without hesitation. He has questions but they can wait. He trusts David, after all. He'll explain later, if necessary.
Relationships: Michael Sheen/David Tennant
Comments: 19
Kudos: 86





	A While

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, yes, I literally can't stop myself from writing them. So have this. I adore them and I HOPE TO GOD THEY'RE NOT READING THIS bc I am well aware that this is just fantasy, thank you very much, and not meant for them (unless, you know...they're into that...who am I to judge?)  
> Enjoy and leave me some motivation to write more in the comments ^_^

He hasn't heard from David in a while. A while being six, maybe seven weeks. Okay, six weeks and four days. That's what a while is. Not that he's been counting. Not that David has heard from _him_ in that same while. It's different when the thing that connects you to someone is suddenly done and you don't know what to say anymore, you just know you want to say something, anything, to keep that connection and you know you can't and also you certainly can't know if that someone also wants to keep it. Alright, it wasn't suddenly. It was a wrap party, a press tour, a podcast, a premiere, a convention. It was drinks in hotel bars and rooms, jet-lagged coffee breaks, dinner parties, introductions to friends and families, and a weird kind of second-hand relationship with _someone's_ wife on social media. It didn't end suddenly. It became less and less as time went on as things naturally do. Life goes on. People move on. And so it's been six weeks and four days since he's been in contact with David and it grates on his nerves that he knows this. 

The picture that has brought on this much contemplation when he's been doing just fine not contemplating David, or rather finding other ways to keep his mind occupied whenever he'd started to, is still open on his phone. Of course it's nothing special that there's pictures of cast and crew behind the scenes, without him. And of course he's not actually jealous or anything else that his reply jokingly implies. But it reminds him of a day of shooting that was. Special. And it reminds him that he hasn't heard from David in a while and that it would be so much easier to keep in contact with him if David would just join Twitter himself. Much easier to tag someone in something, casually admitting _this made me think of you_ , than write a text that says the same thing, but in real words. He closes the app, opens his contacts, scrolls, considers. He almost types, then turns off the screen and yanks the stupid thing into the sofa cushions. Immediately scrambles after it, to retrieve it again. Considers.

'Fuck this,' he mutters, pointedly lays the phone face-down on his coffee table and leaves it there while he goes to put on shoes and jacket. He needs to go grocery shopping. His hand hovers, uncertainly, before locking the door, his phone still on the table. 'Get a grip, man,' he tells himself, and turns the key.

He has a very decent afternoon going shopping, putting the shopping away, getting lost in a new book. It's only when he wants to look up a recipe for dinner that he takes up his phone again, only to quickly press the home button when the first thing he sees is David's contact. Sighing, he opens the browser and looks for something new to make with chicken, but he's distracted now, finds himself switching between tabs, and absolutely not opening contacts again and again. He settles on ordering sushi instead. No point in burning down the house because he's too busy thinking about _someone_ instead of taking care of the stove, he reasons with himself.

He settles in with the book again. It's a really good book, by one of his favourite authors. He'd been looking for exactly a free day like this, with no commitments, no dates, no phone calls to make, to properly enjoy it. And it had worked, for a few hours. It doesn't work anymore. The sushi comes and he hasn't progressed further than a few pages, at best. He turns on the tv and hopes to turn off his mind with some stupid game show or the other. This … doesn't work out as hoped, either. Instead, there's fucking _Deadwater Fell_ on. And he can neither tear his eyes away nor quite tell himself he hadn't known it would be. He'd like to tell himself it's coincidence, that he hadn't planned to watch it. But he's terrible at lying to himself. 

'Shit shit shit,' he curses around a mouthful of sushi, but doesn't change the channel. David looks awfully good in that yellow jumper. David looks awfully good with that beard. Michael almost imagines how it would feel under his fingertips, his lips. But then he remembers, David doesn't have that beard anymore. And even if he did, what would it matter to Michael? It's not like _he_ gets to take note of the difference, really. Not his place. At all. But he could, just as a friend, tell David he enjoys his new show. He could do that. Friends do that. It isn't weird. It's weird that he considers if this might be weird, because it is most definitely not. Friends tell each other they're doing a good job. It's not weird.

He texts David. 

David texts back almost immediately, which is not something that Michael has been prepared for.

_Thank you! How are you doing?_

**fine. and you?**

_Eh, I'm good, same as always. You're back in Hollywood then?_

**not right now, but yeah. right now I'm just taking a little holiday from everything and watching some good old British crime drama ;)**

_Told the kids you're in Dr. Doolittle and they're so excited to see it. They said they miss you._

That is a surprise. He's met them a few times and they got along very well, they're lovely kids, after all. But it's a surprise that David is talking to them about _him_.

_Wait, are you in Wales or in London?_

**London, why?**

_Why didn't you say something?_  
_Do you want to meet up? I could come over, maybe in an hour?_

Does he _want to meet up_? There's nothing in the world right now that Michael would prefer over meeting David. 

_I mean, if you want to. I know it's late._  
_And you're probably tired. Sorry, I didn't mean to impose._

_Just thought it would be nice to hang out. Catch up. But only if you want to, of course. I wouldn't mind._

Michael realises he hasn't answered. He curses himself and types quickly.

**ok**  
**yeah, I mean, that would be great**

_Sure?_

**Absolutely.**

_Alright. I'll ring you when I get there?_

**yes, sure**

There's no more text after that. Michael stares at his phone. He checks his watch. An hour. What is he to do until then? He feels like he should do something, tidy up, maybe, but the place is spotless. He'd showered in the morning and if he changes his outfit now, it would feel as if he had a _date_ coming over and David is - well, not _that_. Besides, he's comfortable with the soft cable knit jumper and dark washed jeans combo he's wearing. And he thinks David might appreciate the colourful rainbow socks. No, that's stupid. David isn't going to care about his socks. Why would he? That's just ridiculous. He forces himself to sit down again, not remembering when exactly he'd gotten up to pace around the room. 

It's 57 minutes later when David calls. Not that he's been counting. He turns off the tv and answers the phone.

'Hi,' David says and it makes Michael's heart speed up. He really is stupidly fond of this man.

'Come on up, I'll buzz you in,' he answers, already pushing the buzzer and opening the door.

David is up so quickly that Michael thinks he must've taken two steps at once. Probably did. 

'Hi,' he says again and _smiles_ at Michael, who - up until this point - had thought maybe he was just projecting, maybe it had been just the experience of filming Good Omens, the sheer amount of time they'd spent being nearly inseparable, maybe it was nothing, but now, with David rushing to meet him, beaming at him with that brilliant smile of his, holding up a bottle of wine, he has to confess to himself, if not to anybody else, he is deeply in love with that man.

'Hi,' he breathes in reply and then David is _hugging_ him and it feels too good, too real, to be actually happening. Briefly, he allows himself to return the embrace, then ushers David in, taking the bottle and his jacket. David doesn't wait for Michael to say anything before he takes off his shoes and pads into the kitchen while Michael hangs up his jacket and takes a moment to breathe before joining David. 

'Thanks,' he says as David tosses him the bottle opener and reaches for the wine glasses in the top cabinet. Michael fills them both quite generously and they toast each other mutely.

The silence isn't exactly weird, but it's also not quite comfortable. Michael fights the impulse to babble just to break it. Instead, he drinks. When he looks up from his glass, he sees that David has barely nipped at his wine. 

'Do you want anything else?' he asks stupidly although David brought the wine himself and surely that means he likes it.

'Nah, I'm good.'

'Okay then. Do you want to' - he motions in the general direction of the living room - 'sit?'

David gives a half-nod, half-shrug. 

Once sat at the sofa, they start talking about the book and the atmosphere finally lightens up. By the time they're done with David's bottle (which is, admittedly, more Michael's work than David's), he feels pleasantly fuzzy around the edges of his mind. He brings his feet up on the coffee table where David is resting his already. David laughs and points between Michael's feet and his own chest.

'Look. We match!'

It's true. David is wearing a long-sleeve striped in all the colours of the rainbow and with some very fluffy looking white clouds at the front. Michael wants to touch them. He looks away.

'More?' Michael ask, gesturing to their empty glasses.

'Nooo, I don't think so. But you go ahead if you want to.' David is not quite sitting anymore, more like vaguely lounging, seemingly just one slouch away from landing between the sofa and the table on his arse. Instead, he stretches his arms above his head with a yawn, making his shirt ride up and expose his very _very_ attractive midriff.

'Oh. Yeah, you probably want to get going…' Michael suggests, though he really doesn't want that.

'What? No. No no, tha's not what I meant.' David sits up in a fluid motion that Michael is certain he himself couldn't have pulled off even thirty years ago, much less now. ' No, I just. I don't wanna get drunk. Tha's all. Unless, you want me to go?'

'Not at all,' Michael rushes to assure him. David looks pleased and leans back into the sofa. 

'I'm…glad you texted today. Haven't heard from you in some time,' David says without looking at him.

 _Six weeks and four days_ , Michael thinks. He smiles to himself. 

David looks at him then, with an odd expression. 

'I've missed you,' he says, sincerely. 

Michael struggles to make his mouth form words but manages to croak out: 'Missed you, too.'

They just look at each other, then. Michael swallows and maybe he imagines the way that David's gaze follows the movement of his throat for just a second, but he doesn't think so. He should say something. Diffuse this tension because, as much as he wants, there can come nothing good of this, he couldn't image.

'What's with the beard?' Michael suddenly asks, just as David opens his mouth. 

'I- oh, the beard? Yeah, it was just too much effort, you know? I mean, of course you know. Yours looks great, though!'

'Thank you,' Michael mumbles. 'Georgia seems to miss it, or so I've heard?' he asks, trying to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

'Yeah, but honestly, she's just conveniently forgetting the time she picked not one, but _two_ Lego figure heads out of it.' David laughs and Michael easily joins in.

'So yeah, I wanted rid of it. Too high maintenance. And…' he leans in conspiratorially and _stays there_ and Michael fights against leaning even closer, intoxicated by David's cologne and his smile and his voice when he continues: 'I look much younger like this, don't you think?' And then he winks at Michael which is. Incredulous. Not fair.

Michael nods, non-committally. 

David smiles again. 'Georgia thinks so, too.' 

And this is good. For a moment there, Michael had almost let himself believe that David was- that David would- but not like this. David is not the kind of man who'd make idle conversation about his wife while cheating on her. _David is not the kind of man to cheat on his wife, period,_ Michael sternly tells himself. And yet.

David is looking at him curiously. 'Oh and, did you know,' he starts asking conversationally, 'Georgia and I, we're not um, exclusive, as it were. An open relationship, if you will.'

He keeps looking at Michael, face carefully neutral, but his fingers betray him by tapping a very soft rhythm against his thigh. 

_If you will_ , Michael thinks and oh, how he wants. But he needs to be sure, doesn't want to ruin their friendship, doesn't want to-

'I really missed you,' David repeats, leaning closer, keeping their eyes locked. And this must be-

'Missed your beautiful beard,' David says, bringing one hand up, almost in slow motion, to caress Michael's cheek and stroke his beard. Michael settles into it without hesitation. He has _questions_ but they can wait. He trusts David, after all. He'll explain later, if necessary.

'Missed your brilliant eyes,' David continues, 'and your smile. You have such a gorgeous smile. I just want to _kiss_ it.'

'Why don't you?' Michael asks in what was meant as a challenging tone but comes out as a breathy plea instead. It doesn't matter, though, because in the next moment David is all over him, long limbs and strong hands and soft soft _soft_ lips and Michael can't help himself, he holds onto David's arm tightly and opens up to David's tongue and it's wet and hot and maybe it's a mistake but it feels so right. 

'I swear I didn't come over just for this,' David whispers, pressing his forehead to Michael's, grinning wildly.

'Wouldn't mind if you did,' Michael laughs. 'We should've done this _months_ ago.'

'Yesss,' David agrees and, as if to make up for lost time, dives back into their kiss, his hands tangling in Michael's curls. It's amazing and unreal and for a second Michael wonders if he's actually dreaming but then David bites his bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth and he's awake and alive and electrified. His scalp is tingling from the slight pull of David's fingers in his hair and the feeling trickles down along with David's fingertips, following the vein in his neck to tentatively skim the edge of his jumper, darting just the tip of one finger underneath, sending sparks into Michael's shoulder blades and he huffs a delighted moan into David's mouth. David takes it as the encouragement it is and slides his hand against Michael's back, the feeling fanning out like David's splayed fingers, heating up Michael's body, daring him to touch and feel and explore as well. And because Michael has never let a dare go unchallenged, he runs his own hands down David's sides, takes hold of his hips and tugs him closer, settles him more firmly in his lap, his knees spread wide around Michael's thighs, his jeans impossibly tight and Michael doesn't need to imagine, doesn't need to wonder anymore because David is right there, kissing him, touching him, moving against him with unmistakable intention, gasping when Michael pushes his shirt up to get at that strip of soft skin and flesh. The electricity has reached his fingertips now and he's sure David is feeling it, too. 

'Good?' Michael asks.

His answer is David rutting into him with a deep groan, the bulge in his pants pressing into Michael's belly. With visible effort, David leans back from Michael to take off his shirt and undershirt, leaving him bare and beautiful, his hair messed up, his skin flushed and begging to be touched, tasted, worshipped.

Michael slowly skims his fingers over David's back until he's got him safely supported, hands on David's shoulder blades, arms covering most of his narrow back, and then he leans in to press a soft kiss against his shoulder and another and another, following the line of his clavicle to the hollow of his throat, feeling David's rapid heartbeat, tasting his half-swallowed moans and gasps as he licks up his throat, nips at his jaw, the slight stubble of it rasping on his lips and tongue, and he mouths on along his jawline to lick at the soft skin right behind David's ear, and asks in a low whisper: 'This alright?'.

David shivers deliciously at that, nods and snakes his arms around Michael's neck. It's hard to say if David is tugging him closer or if Michael is leaning in, but David holds him tight so they're pressed together, chest to chest, and Michael can feel the body heat radiating from David and he wants to selfishly soak it up, let it consume him, let _him_ consume him which, judging by the intensity of David's kiss, maybe isn't so selfish after all.

'Touch me,' David moans into Michael's mouth, chasing the words with his tongue, devouring all doubt that might have lingered in Michael's mind about what is _right_ or _good_ or _allowed_. He trusts David. So if David asks for something, he is more than willing to give it. Anything.

'Please Michael. Put your hands on me,' David whispers.

It's so easy to just follow David's lead, let his hands trail down David's back and into the waistband of his jeans, his pants, let himself touch and hold and squeeze while David's hands are in his hair and David's mouth is on him, breathing, kissing, tasting.

It's always different, hooking up with someone you know so well and who is so well-known, publicly, because you have seen so much of them already, have formed your ideas of how it might be. _This_ is not how Michael thought it might be. David is never loud, always polite and considerate, always taking care to put other people first, never asks for anything. _This_ is not how he expected _him_ to be.

Not that Michael is complaining. David moaning wantonly just millimetres from Michael's ear could very well become his new favourite sound. 

'Sexy bitch.' Michael thinks to himself but it comes out in a low and desperate whisper.

David just laughs, a warm and comfortable breath of air against Michael's neck, and nudges his nose against the edge of Michael's jumper to press feather light kisses against his shoulder.

'Adorable muppet,' David murmurs with a smile. His hands are slowly rucking up soft wool, rubbing circles into Michael's back.

'Fuck David! Touch me now or I'm gonna -' he interrupts himself to wiggle his arms free of his jumper after David has pulled it over his head.

'Or what?' David asks, arching an eyebrow. Michael surges forward to kiss that smug smile off his face, to taste that tongue that David keeps running over his lips so distractingly.

He reaches between them and fumbles with David's belt buckle. 

'Or what?' David repeats with a gasp as Michael reaches into his pants. David holds his hands up ostentatiously and grins at Michael who tries his absolute best not to flip David around, sit him on the couch and drop to his knees in front of him in worship. Then David nudges him, murmuring questioningly again.

'Oh fuck you, you bastard!' Michael says and stops trying. 

' _Please!_ ' David breathes and lets him. It's like being on set in some way, where David is David and fantastic at it, but this time Michael gets to direct him. He stands David up to remove his trousers and pants and sits back on his haunches for a moment just to admire him. David colours a very pretty shade of pink and lets him. When Michael directs him back to the couch, David attempts something like sitting, his wide spread legs at odds with the way he keeps hiding his face in the crook of his elbow while ruffling his hair and biting his lower lip. Whether he's playing coy or playing cool, Michael can't decide and he doesn't care so much as he cares about the very -very- obvious evidence of David's arousal right in front of him.

Acutely aware of David watching him with a half-lidded gaze, Michael licks his lips and waits for David to break the silence. Which he does, with an unexpectedly candid plea that Michael is only too happy to comply with.  
He takes him in his mouth and David makes that noise again, like he's trying to say something while simultaneously breathing in and swallowing and it comes out deliciously needy. Michael strokes his hands over David's thighs and hips while sucking him, cataloguing the feel of his soft skin, the coarse hair covering his legs, and the supple flesh on his hips and belly. He breathes in deeply, swallows around his cock, appreciating his subtle salty taste and the musky scent of him, underneath the distinct soapy smell of his pubic hair which belies his earlier statement. He showered just before coming over, and that knowledge is like an aphrodisiac to Michael. He releases David's hips, tugging his hands to place them on his own head, moaning encouragingly when David tentatively tangles them in Michael's hair. His shallow thrusts become deeper and more rhythmical while Michael does his best to just relax his mouth and let David fuck into him. He swirls his tongue around the head of David's cock whenever he pulls out and swallows when he pushes back in. 

'Jesus, Michael, fuck! You're so gorgeous like this. God, your mouth. You look so lovely right now. Can I…' he trails off, breathing hard, his grip almost painful but not quite.

Michael looks up at him until he catches his gaze, and nods, more with his eyes than his head because he is happily occupied. David lets out a long groan and holds Michael very still while he fucks into him, still careful, but -judging by the tremors that shiver through him- getting closer to losing control, and Michael wants that. He's being pressed forward, making it a bit hard to breath with his nose buried in David's groin but he couldn't say he minds. He couldn't say anything at this point, to be fair. His own cock, neglected but rock hard nevertheless, is throbbing. If his mouth wasn't full (and his head too fuzzy to think), he'd giggle at the thought that he might actually come completely untouched, and at his age. As it is, he's holding onto David's thighs for dear life and letting David use him and the only thing he knows is how terribly _good_ it feels when David says 'Fuck, you're good at this,' and comes down his throat moaning his name. 

David slides down the couch and kisses Michael, cum still dripping from Michael's numb lips and David rubbing some of it into his beard, which shouldn't be erotic. It's dirty and strange but it's David, so it doesn't matter. David barely manages to get a hand into Michael's pants when Michael knows he's not gonna last.

'Ah, this is embarrassing,' he half moans, half laughs, and puts his hand over David's, jerks himself off with two, maybe three quick strokes before he's coming, not even disappointed because basically, he's got what he wanted. To see David like this. To get to know the sounds he makes, and his feel, and his scent, so intimately, is more than he'd even dreamed about.

David kisses him through his climax and beyond and doesn't stop kissing him, just wipes his hand on his own discarded jumper thoughtlessly before cradling Michael's face again, guiding him gently to lie down with him, and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. Michael is all but jelly with the way deep relaxation settles in his old bones and muscles, making him pliant and easy, eyes closed in bliss and letting David do whatever he wants.

What David wants, apparently, is to never stop kissing him, and that is perfectly fine, if you'd asked Michael, which David does.

'Mhmm, yea,' is all Michael manages between trying to take a breath every now and then and being kissed senseless, except, with David nibbling and sucking at his lips, feeling is actually returning to them, and it's a good one. It's like that electricity earlier, but less urgent, less stingy. It's a slowly simmering heat that's spreading all through his loose limbs and making him shiver under David's barely there touches.

'I need-' he whispers, not sure how he even planned to end that sentence.

'Yes?'

'I don't know! Can we maybe…' he trails off again when David looks him in the eyes. He's breathtakingly beautiful and it makes him speechless, too.

'Yes, Michael?' There's an amused tone to David's question, but his eyes are kind and warm and he looks about ready to fulfil Michael's every dream. 

'Will you stay?' Michael asks quietly.

'Yes.'

Michael absolutely doesn't make a delighted squeak at that and certainly does not smile like a mad man at David who smiles back at him just as happily. 

'Come to bed then,' Michael says, groaning while getting up, 'or we'll regret this tomorrow.'

He holds out a hand to David who takes it easily and lets Michael lead him to the bedroom. He's already snuggled into the duvet when Michael has stripped and joins him. 

'You look cute in my bed,' Michael says. Despite all they've said and done this evening, Michael is glad he's already turned off the lights because he's sure he must be blushing.

'Thank you,' David says, only centimetres from his face, and closes that small gap to kiss him again.  
'And I won't,' he adds solemnly.

'What?'

'I won't regret this. Will you?'

Michael holds David's hand while he considers. They will have to have a serious talk about what _This_ even is and what it means or could mean, and maybe they should have had that talk before they rushed into things. But right now, David is in his bed, holding his hand, and even if this is the last of it, he can't bring himself to feel sorry.

'Never,' he answers decisively and leans in for another kiss.  
'Good night, David.'

'Good night, Michael.'


End file.
